Sifting through the broken pieces, I often find shards of you. And I wonder how much of what I am is framed within the reference of you. And how much is my own wanting of a very different thing. A thing you never were.
Your eyes, for example. My eyes. The way you raise your eyebrow. Mine. Your wicked, gutter humour. All a part of me.
And what if the deficit was never voiced? If comparisons where never made? Would I have really wanted more? Would I have just held you there, as you are? Complete in all you could be. Or would I still have ached for something more? Something with a flash more pride. A little more interest.
But you’ve taught me so very, very well. A fortress of humour. Each layered buttress constructed to rebuff. Impenetrable. Never weak. And I know this legacy will make me safe. But at what cost? Do I really want to be like you? Yes. And absolutely no.
So where is this learning unlearnt? How do I mend the broken parts? How do I keep myself safe (strangely, from the likes of you) and still be open? Willing? Would it heal all of me, to know? Or just show me yet another way to sift and fit the pieces of myself together?